High Stakes
by HalfASlug
Summary: After a rocky start, Harry, Ron and Hermione quickly became the best of friends. Life long friends, in fact. Some lives, however, are a lot longer than others.


_A/N: So this my now properly traditional Treehouse of Trio golden trio Halloween special. A bit late. I can only apologise. It wasn't finished and then it was and then I forgot and anyway. I'm terrible. But it's here now so yay? Right? Anyhoo, my incompetence aside, bit different this year – rather than having some trio fluff go down on Halloween, it's a Halloween themed crack fic that answers that big question we've been asking for well over a decade now._

_Just how would the series have played out if the trio... hadn't quite been themselves?_

**_Warnings: probably not suitable for those very sensitive to blood, slight horror, minor language and the fourth wall._**

_Disclaimer: J.K Rowling did not write this. Okay, so she wrote the opening and all the other bits you recognise. But the rest is all me, borrowing and generally misusing her characters, settings and plots._

* * *

"We've had Sprout's, that was the Devil's Snare - Flitwick must've put charms on the keys – McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive – that leaves Quirrell's spell, and Snape's..."

"All right?"

"Go on."

Harry took a steadying breath before opening the heavy door, wondering what horror could possibly face them next. Having just watched his best friend be knocked unconscious, he was shaken to say the least. Anything could be waiting for them. Quirrell might have been a wet blanket left out on the line during a hurricane, but he was still the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. And Snape was pure evil so either way they were more than likely screwed.

Unless, of course, Hermione had read a book about the inner workings of the sadistic and odd minds of Hogwarts teachers recently. She probably had, in all fairness.

Braced for a great beast to attack them before Hermione could crack open her revision notes, Harry stepped into the dingy room.

Despite expecting the unexpected, Harry was quite frankly stunned to see a handsome man sat at a small table, covered in a delicate tea set, complete with a display stand of scones.

"Ah, more guests!" the man said smoothly, sipping from his cup. "Would you care for a drink?"

"Do you think it's a test of etiquette?" Hermione whispered from Harry's side.

He shook his head. "Snape probably spits in other people's drinks and wouldn't hesitate to stab an annoying dinner guest, so I'm guessing not."

"Don't just stand there all day!" the stranger called.

Harry shrugged and sat down, shortly following by a trembling Hermione. There didn't appear to be any immediate danger and he'd had a stressful couple of hours. A cuppa sounded like a wonderful idea.

"So what's the idea here? How do we get past you?" Harry asked as the man poured out two cups of tea.

Now that he was closer to him, Harry could see how pale the man was despite looking otherwise healthy. He wondered how long he'd been down here, waiting for someone to challenge him for the Stone. There wasn't any real food on the table, let alone any kinds of facilities. Yet the man was well kept, with sleek dark hair and immaculate teeth.

He wasn't the only one who had noticed the man's appearance; Hermione blushed when handed her drink.

"Past me? Whatever do you mean?" the man said over the rim of his cup. While his voice was perfectly polite, he was smirking in a way that told Harry he was being played.

"The Stone," reiterated Hermione. "You're defending it, aren't you?"

The man sighed and returned his cup to its saucer. "That's the problem with the youth of today. No time to make polite conversation. They want everything now, now, _now._"

"Well, we are trying to save the world," Harry pointed out. "Kinda time restricting."

"I like you," the man smiled. It was the sort of smile that reminded Harry of Dudley eyeing up a cake he had been told he'd have to wait until after dinner to eat so he wasn't sure he could return the sentiment.

"Unfortunately, you're right," he continued solemnly. "I do have a role here so I must warn you both to turn back and return from whence you came."

Harry glanced at Hermione. While shaky, she still seemed to be trying to crack the puzzle sat in front of them. Which was undoubtedly a good thing as Harry was deeply unsettled by the Stone's protector.

"So you'll attack us if we try and get through that door?" Hermione asked.

"Sadly, yes."

Weighing up their options, Harry knew they probably couldn't take a fully-grown wizard in a duel, but they had the advantage of being two and small. One of them could probably make a run for the door, while the other provided a distraction. He'd happily be said distraction, but he knew Hermione wouldn't stand for it.

"If you aren't going to attempt to best me then you might as well finish your beverages," the man said, nodding to their still full cups, unaware of Harry's half-formed plans of deception. "How is Dumbledore these days? Still growing that awful beard?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but we really don't have time to sit around and talk. You see, we're trying to save the Stone from Vol- You Know Who and-"

"Oh, I know," the man frowned. The whole chamber dropped several degrees as the man's eyes darkened. His civilised gait was replaced by restrained fury and it wasn't until now that Harry was truly scared of him. "He is monstrous fiend... The powers he has..."

Considering how shaken the man was despite being fairly intimidating himself, Harry wondered if he should leave all of this to the adults and go back to bed. Surely they could handle this better than he could? What had possessed him to think he could deal with this? He was eleven years old!

_Oh well, _he thought, sipping the tea he'd been given by a threatening stranger. _In for a knut..._

"So maybe you could – um – let us by?" he asked hopefully with Hermione nodding next to him.

The man leaned back in his chair, considering the pair of them. "Hmm... that would be against the rules though." He tapped his bottom lip with forefinger and Harry swore he heard Hermione swoon.

Rather than scared, Harry did his best to look well-intentioned and able to defeat an all-powerful Dark wizard. He wasn't entirely sure what that really looked like so he just grinned and tried not to blink.

"Ah, fuck it," the man shrugged, causing Hermione to gasp. "I've been sat down here for nearly twelve months. Time to shake things up."

"So we can go through?" Harry questioned, unable to believe his own luck or that Hermione only looked as though she doubting the man's help after he'd sworn.

"Yeah, why not?"

"Oh." Harry blinked. "Er – thanks? We'll just..." He pointed vaguely at the door and shifted off his seat.

"Not so fast."

They paused. How could Harry have forgotten that he was Harry Potter and nothing was ever that easy for him?

"I could give you a bit of a... boost?" the man said silkily. "You're woefully ill-equipped to face the Dark Lord."

Hermione shot him a sceptical look. "And you could help us?"

"Oh yes."

Harry met Hermione's eyes and she nodded.

"Okay, then," Harry said. "Anything that can keep us alive longer than thirty seconds would be nice, I guess."

"Oh, don't worry," the man smiled widely, "that won't be an issue."

It was then that Harry spotted how pointed the man's canines were. Doubled with the hungry look in his eyes, he began to realise that, maybe, he should have asked a couple of follow up questions before agreeing.

Twenty minutes and a rather painful experience later, Harry was bound and gagged by one of his teachers in a truly bizarre scene that, in spite of all of its flaws, probably wouldn't have happened at Stonewall High.

"Ask the boy," came a chilling voice from Quirrell's direction, though Harry couldn't see who from.

"Potter!" called Quirrell. Harry rolled his eyes – like the nutter didn't already have his undivided attention. "Look into the mirror!"

Harry wiggled to show how walking was a bit difficult while tied up and Quirrell stormed over to drag him in front of the Mirror of Erised.

"Look! Tell me what you see!"

Reflected back at him, Harry could see his teacher glaring at the space next to him, the flames, still roaring behind him, and not a lot else.

"Oh, this is awkward..."

Two days and a slightly less painful but still highly unpleasant experience later, Harry was sat up in a hospital bed, surrounded by more sweets than he could possibly eat and a frantic Hermione.

"What are we going to do?" she fretted. Though she apparently hadn't slept since going through the trapdoor, there were no bags under her eyes and her hair was looking better than it ever had done. "My parents are going to be terrified if they find out. They'll never understand! And what if the school find out! Hogwarts is for witches and wizards – not..."

"Vampires," Harry finished when she couldn't. Honestly, they'd been turned into monsters and she was still wondering how this would affect her marks.

Hermione nodded and her whole body seemed to shrink as a single tear fell from her now permanently dazzling eye. He'd barely had chance to think about the consequences of what had happened to them down there, what with him being unconscious and all, but she had been bottling this up and worrying for two days. All on her own, as well. She really had been holding well, considering.

Still. Hermione being emotional was not something Harry ever wanted to deal with, especially now his hearing was good enough to still understand what she was saying when her voice went squeaky.

"Look, Hermione, let's focus on the positives, okay?" he said, sitting forward to look at her properly. "We'll ace any vampire essays we're set."

Hermione looked at him dead in the eye and said, "Last night, I seriously considered ripping out Lavender's throat because I was peckish and she was breathing loudly."

"Right... That's not really a positive."

"We don't cover vampires until sixth year, by which point we'll probably have killed someone. Or been expelled."

"You're really bad at this."

"Well, at least I've got plenty of time to become more flippant about horrifying and life-altering events," Hermione snapped.

"That's a bit of an improvement."

She glared at him and Harry decided to backtrack before she decided to test her new attacking prowess.

"At least Ron's okay." They'd agreed to keep the news from him as best they could. Hermione could pass anything unusual as 'woman's troubles', while he could probably blame it on scar-related issues for a couple of years at least.

"That's true," Hermione sniffed. "His eating habits are atrocious as it is."

Ron chose that moment to return from the toilet with a cheer when he saw Harry was sitting up. "You're awake!"

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Who?"

"Doesn't matter," Harry sighed, watching Ron scratch under the collar of his robes. "What's up?"

Ron dropped his hand guiltily. "I know I shouldn't complain, seeing as you were knocked out after fighting You Know Who and all that, but I wish you hadn't left me on that bloody chessboard with all the rats."

"Rats?" Hermione frowned. "What rats? I didn't see any."

Ron scowled, pulling his collar down to show them the red mark there. "Well, something bit me!"

Flopping back down on his pillows, Harry exhaled roughly. "Bollocks."

"What?" asked Ron, shocked by his friends' reactions. "Hermione? You okay? I-I'm sure it wasn't, like, a diseased rat or anything. I feel fine. Great, in fact!"

"It's nothing, really," Hermione squeaked in a voice that was as about as reassuring as the panicked expression on her face. "But we're going to have to find another silver lining."

"What?"

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. There was no easy way of telling a friend he was now an undead fiend, but nothing in his life was easy and he had still got through that so far.

"There's something we should probably tell you, Ron..."

* * *

Now that she knew what had been attacking people all year, Hermione was filled with the unfamiliar sensation of feeling stupid. How had she missed the clues? It had been so obvious! Especially with all the extra time she'd spent awake, researching and investigating, thanks to her... condition.

Ron and Harry might laugh at her because of it, but if she had been given the opportunity to squeeze an extra couple of hours of revision into every day, then she'd be a fool to waste it on the nonsense that they did. How in the name of Merlin were they going to benefit from sneaking into Snape's office and laying booby-traps almost nightly?

The obvious exception was that they were mainly there is steal any kind of mammal blood they could to stop the three of them feasting on their fellow students. It was the only reason Hermione didn't turn them in when they'd walked into Potions and find Snape's usual pewter cauldron had been replaced by a fuchsia one with a flower pattern around the rim.

As she remembered the way the muscle in Snape's jaw had almost snapped that afternoon, Hermione hurried through the library as fast as humanly possible (she could cross the cavernous room in three seconds if she wanted but that would have been a bit of a giveaway) in the hopes of finding a teacher. Hopefully, a competent teacher. Preferably, a blond teacher.

She bit her lip. Oh to hell with it – she was going to Lockhart's office.

"Umph!"

Hermione barely registered as the taller girl (so warm, so soft, nice smelling, easily-over-powered – _shut up, brain!_) crashed into her and staggered back against the wall. A beat too late, she pretended to be jostled and hoped it didn't look too suspicious.

"Sorry, Hermione," the girl she recognised as Penelope the Ravenclaw prefect stood up straight. "Didn't see you there."

"That's okay," she replied. Maybe she'd been too hasty to get to Lockhart and had been moving too quickly after all? "Are you hurt?"

Penelope rubbed her wrist, her artery clearly visible beneath her thin skin _(I won't tell you again, brain), _and chuckled. "I'm fine. Why do you look so worried?"

Hermione ripped her gaze from Penelope's arm and gulped, hoping the blood lust wasn't showing on her features. Extra security measures meant getting decent blood was becoming a struggle and the strain was beginning to take its toll on her. Hence why she'd thrown herself into discovering the Chamber's secret.

"Oh!" she blurted out, thinking on her feet. "Penelope, I've discovered the monster behind the attacks." She hurriedly explained her Basilisk theory to an increasingly pale Penelope _(good, good – much less appetising) _before pulling a mirror from her bag. "If you use this to see around corners, then you'll only see the reflection and won't be killed!"

Penelope lowered the hand that had been covering her mouth. "But we'd still be petrified!"

With great difficulty, Hermione didn't roll her eyes. "Yes, but you won't be dead."

"What if the teachers are wrong and they can't be cured? Some fates are worse than death."

Hermione shoved the mirror into Penelope's hand with a huff. "Just take the mirror."

The girls huddled next to the cold stone of the wall as the older one angled the mirror around the corner. As she did so, Hermione pondered her words. After nearly a year of being a vampire, she had to disagree with her. Yes, the hunger was an issue, but it was easy enough to deal with, and the rest of it was a case of restraining themselves and acting human. With their secret safe, the only real threat to them was prolonged sunlight and, as Ron had pointed out, that was hardly a danger to them in Scotland.

All in all, it wasn't all that bad and she couldn't imagine how she'd dealt with her bird's nest of a hairstyle before it became conveniently perfect.

Not that Hermione was bothered by those sorts of things, but it was nice.

"Um, Hermione?" said Penelope, drawing Hermione's attention back the situation at hand. "Er... why don't you have a reflection?"

_Ah._

Whilst floundering for an explanation, Hermione heard a hissing coming towards them and made a decision that she knew she'd come to regret.

"Penelope! Look!" She pointed at the mirror and, on instinct, Penelope followed her instruction.

_So much for being the intelligent house,_ Hermione thought as she watched the prefect drop like a statue to the floor. _Even Neville wouldn't have fallen for that one._

Knowing anything Penelope said once revived could be blamed on her being hysterical, Hermione closed her eyes and stepped into the next corridor with a sigh. While her conscience was troubled, her secret was safe, but she still had to give herself a cover story.

"I-I know you can't understand me," she called blindly, "but I'd appreciate it if you didn't eat us. Or damage the books. Some are rather valuable. Please."

And so, hoping that Harry and Ron would spend more time saving Hogwarts than terrorising their Potions teacher, she met the glaring eyes of the Basilisk dead on and knew no more.

* * *

While he appreciated that everything going on right now was really important – not mention interesting and completely bloody mental – Ron's leg really hurt. He'd step between Black and Harry again in a heartbeat, but did broken bones have to be so painful? The way his leg was bent all wrong was enough of an indication was something wasn't right there. There wasn't any need for it to be constantly screaming for his attention on top of everything else.

Would his bone even heal now? He'd have to ask Hermione about undead healing when they got out of this mould-riddled hell-hole.

"I trusted you!" Harry shouted in front of him, "and all this time you've been his friend!"

Shit. Ron sat forward a bit more to pay attention. He'd clearly missed something huge.

"You're wrong," insisted Lupin. "I haven't been Sirius' friend for twelve years, but I am now... let me explain..."

"NO!"

Everyone in the room jumped at Hermione's scream. For everyone else it was fine, but Ron's leg didn't enjoy the movement one bit and he was nearly sick. Couldn't they arrange this showdown for another day?

"Harry, don't trust him, he's been helping Black get into the castle, he wants you dead too – _he's a werewolf!_"

On second thoughts, he could probably deal with the stabbing pains to stick around for this argument.

Lupin, unlike the rest of them, was unfazed by her accusation and smiled at her. "Not up to your usual standards, Hermione. And a touch hypocritical, might I add, coming from a vampire."

On _third _thoughts, maybe they should all take some time to calm down and regroup later.

"What? That's... that's insane, Professor. I mean – _vampire_?" Hermione laughed, her eyes darting to Harry, pleading for back-up.

"Yeah. Mad," Harry nodded. "So when you said _werewolf-_"

"Yes, Harry, I'm a werewolf," Lupin confirmed with a sigh. "I won't bite you. Any of you. As long as you promise to not bite me, obviously."

"Wait..." Black edged closer to Lupin, his expression unreadable. "Harry's a vampire?"

"No!" Harry denied and Ron hoped Black was as stupid as he was murderous because Harry couldn't have looked guiltier than if he'd been wearing a cape, holding a Dummies' Guide to Transylvania and sipping on a tall glass of A positive.

The three of them held their breaths (figuratively as well as literally for a change) to see Black's reaction and were all shocked to see his gaunt face light up.

"And you all still come to school!" he laughed, roughly as though his vocal chords weren't used to it. "That's amazing! Bet they use all the special powers to play pranks!"

"We most certainly do not," gasped Hermione.

"Well, last week," Ron piped up, "I convinced a load of bats to follow Snape around and shit on him every time he tried to Vanish them."

Now positively roaring, Black bounded across the room and plopped on the bed next to him. The resulting bouncing led to another bout of agony and Ron pulled his leg out of further harm's way.

"Dumbledore hasn't changed, has he?" Black sighed wistfully. "He'd pretty much let anything that can fit into a Hogwarts uniform in. Anyway, Moony, storytime." He lounged back, shaking his head ruefully. "Hurry up, though. Their stories are going to be better and I need to know exactly how proud to be of my godson."

* * *

After spending days trying to work out how to realistically pretend to find it difficult to breathe underwater for an hour, Harry had thought the rest of the Triwizard Tournament would be a doddle. Providing he didn't get too cocky (as Hermione was constantly reminding him), his vampire super strength and speed should have been enough to get him through unharmed. He'd almost laughed when he'd been told about the maze. Getting past creatures weaker than him without an audience who thought he was a normal wizard? He could have a nap halfway through!

If he was still able to nap, anyway.

As predicted, getting to the centre had been easy. Unfortunately, Cedric had shown up at the last minute and being unable to use his full potential against the acromantula meant they had drawn for the cup. And had ended up in a graveyard. With Lord Voldemort. Who had murdered Cedric.

So, basically, it hadn't been as easy as he had expected it to have been and he probably should've listened to Hermione.

He raised his wand in preparation to duel his arch nemesis, his heart as still as it always was, but Harry could have sworn he could feel it beating rapidly. Facing him, Voldemort looked almost gleeful in anticipation and he tried to not let his fear show.

"On the count of three, Potter," sneered Voldemort. "One. Two. _Avada Kedavra!"_

"You cheating sh-!"

The curse hit Harry square in the chest and he was thrown back into the circle of Death Eaters who threw themselves out of the way.

"You see, loyal Death Eaters!" cackled Voldemort, his arms aloft. "The Boy Who-"

Voldemort broke off, his lipless mouth hanging open, when Harry groaned from the floor.

"That is going to hurt in the morning," he mumbled as he sat up, straightening his glasses. He didn't strictly need them anymore, but he liked to think he pulled of a kind of geek chic thing with them. "What's everyone staring at?" he asked the group who were gawping at him. "Oh right."

Harry stood and brushed down his robes. He waited patiently for someone to speak, but they all appeared too stunned to do anything. It quickly grew awkward and he wondered if it'd be worth just lying down and pretending he was properly dead until they left him alone.

"What?" Voldemort breathed. _"What?"_

"This must be embarrassing for you," Harry empathised before looking around at the group still gathered around the pair of them. "I swear he usually kills people. This is just a one off. He's had a lot on at work and-"

"_Silence!" _shouted Voldemort. "How are you doing this?"

"Can't you work it out?" Harry taunted, with a smile.

Voldemort shook his head. Harry gestured vaguely at his teeth.

"No..." gasped Voldemort, edging towards Harry who stood his ground. "You can't be... You're..."

"Say it," Harry whispered when Voldemort was stood directly behind him.

There was a moment when all Harry could feel was the Dark Lord's breath on the back of his neck and he had to stop himself from visibly shuddering.

"Me from the future?"

"What?" Harry laughed, breaking the moment. "No! How... how would that even work?"

Voldemort rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I could have achieved immortality and then-"

"I'm going to stop you there before you embarrass yourself." Harry shook his head. "You were doing so well! All of this-" He pointed to his surroundings. "It's terrifying! The graveyard, the masked band miscreants – even that bloody creepy house over there! And now you've spoiled it by being a moron."

With a sorry glance the once proud wannabe tyrant, Harry sighed and starting walking backwards. "I'm leaving."

"Wait!" called Voldemort as his followers stepped back to let Harry head back towards the cup. "I can do better! You're my son?"

Harry snorted. "That's even more ridiculous."

"You're a ghost! A figment of my imagination? Covered in a protective layer of bubblewrap?"

Even when Harry was back to where he had landed, Voldemort was still calling out suggestions that even the Death Eaters were laughing at. With a sigh, he bent down to grip Cedric's cold wrist.

"Such a waste," he murmured sadly. "Look at those cheekbones – he'd have made a way better vampire than me."

And without looking back at the irate Voldemort screaming into the night, Harry summoned the Triwizard Cup and travelled uncomfortably back to Hogwarts.

* * *

The DA was one of the only good things left in Harry's life (well... existence) and it had just got twenty times better.

"Hermione, I've probably said this before," he said accepting a flask from her in the Room of Requirement in the dead of night, "but you're actually pretty smart."

Ron greedily took his own. "Yeah, you're the best."

"Thanks, Ron," she smiled.

As miffed as he was that she'd overlooked his compliment, Harry was rather proud of how Hermione only managed to blush a little this time.

At last week's meeting, when she had suggested that the DA should do some extra things to help the community, Harry had the sinking feeling they'd be cleaning up graffiti in toilets. However, much to his surprise and relief, Hermione had started a blood drive.

Harry could've kissed her. By the looks of things, Ron very nearly did and was very confused by this.

After nearly four years of having his Potions store constantly raided despite all of his security measures, Snape had taken to the more basic method of hiding all types of blood he needed for potions. While the day Ron had stumbled across the entire stash behind a tapestry a couple of months ago had been a great victory for them, it was a rarity. Hermione's determination to find the subsequent hiding places quickly grew terrifying to watch and even Ron was getting bored of living solely on bloodpops.

As Harry downed what he thought was a pint of one of the Patil twins, he found words could not describe his gratitude. He'd honestly been about two weeks away from sucking dry the next person to call him unhinged. Or look at him.

"Brilliant," gasped Ron, licking the bits he'd dribbled down his chin. "Now if you can work out a way to make garlic bread safe-"

Ron broke off as the three of them heard the door to the room open. Too stunned to hide the highly incriminating evidence, they all gawked as Luna Lovegood strode in as though nothing odd was happening.

"Luna, what, um, what are you doing here?" Harry asked as she came and sat in their circle.

"Couldn't sleep." She pulled a bottle out of her bag and unscrewed the top. "You don't mind, do you?"

They shook their heads slowly.

"Thanks. By the way, Hermione? You've got a bit of red-" She gestured to her mouth and Hermione hastily swiped the blood away. "So how is everyone? I've been feeling a little under the weather, but it's to be expected at this time of year, what with it being Huggaboon hatching season, you know?"

"Luna," Hermione said delicately, "we're drinking blood."

The girl blinked as though Hermione had pointed out they were indoors. "I know."

"You know?"

"Oh yes," she said, sipping her own drink. "I prefer plimpie juice myself." Luna carried on drinking, as unaware as she usually was to the befuddlement of everyone around her.

"And..." Hermione started. "You're... okay with that?"

"Of course. I was happy to donate."

"I think I've got you," Ron said, looking as his flask. "You're all right actually. Not nearly as nutty as you'd expect."

Hermione elbowed him while Harry hide his laugh with a cough.

"Actually, I've been wondering why you didn't ask me sooner," Luna continued with a slight frown. "I thought that's what friends did for each other."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, Luna. We'd, um, pay you back somehow?"

"That's okay," she replied brightly.

Ron shrugged at Harry and the two of them toasted Luna and her generosity. Hermione, as ever, was still finding issue with Luna. "But – don't you think it's strange? Us, drinking blood... in the middle of the night?"

"No," Luna answered. "After all, you are the majority at the minute, so really it's strange for me to be drinking juice."

When Hermione looked on the verge of pointing out the flaw in Luna's logic, Ron nudged her and subtly shook his head.

"Don't scare the meal ticket away," he hissed under his breath and she gave up, though she did appear to be on edge.

"So," began Ron conversationally, "anything interesting happening in Ravenclaw these days?"

"Not much," Luna shrugged. "There's a seventh year having an affair with one of the centaurs in the forest, but that's it, really."

Luna took another sip of her drink as Harry wondered if there was anything in existence that could faze Luna Lovegood and, if there was, he hoped he would never, ever have to experience it.

* * *

Sirius was dead.

And not the cool, still-get-to-do-stuff-and-never-have-to-see-a-dentist-again kind of way. Properly dead.

If that wasn't enough, Harry was now being forced to spend time with Lord Voldemort who was being his usual, whackjob self.

All in all, Harry was having a fucking terrible evening.

"The Minister will be here soon, Tom," said Dumbledore as though they were attending some bizarre, midnight tea party.

"By which time, I shall be gone and you will be dead!" Voldemort threw back.

"You keep saying that," Harry called across the atrium, "but are you ever going to throw a curse? Because we've been stood here for like-"

With a frustrated screech, Voldemort cast a giant ball of fire at the pair of them. Thankfully, Dumbledore was quick enough to conjure a wall of water that immediately evaporated. After the steam had faded, he shot Harry a 'shut up' kind of look.

"That's more like it!"

"Harry, can you please refrain from goading him?"

Harry snorted. "You've been ignoring me all year. I'm not listening to you now."

"Teenagers," sighed Dumbledore. "Maybe you've been unbearably self-absorbed all year? Hmm?"

"Enough!" yelled Voldemort as Bellatrix cackled next to him. "I've been waiting all this time to talk to you, Potter."

"Have you ever tried just owling me?"

"Quiet! I have long run out of patience for your little jokes," Voldemort hissed. "Now, _what did you do to me?_"

It said something about how messed up Harry's life was that he was stunned not to hear a death threat. Or even a promise of grave injury. "I'm sorry?"

"Ever since last summer, when I overcame great odds and returned, things have been... different." Voldemort shuffled on the spot. It was the closest Harry had ever seen him to embarrassed. He wondered if the Dark Lord could blush. More disturbingly, he wondered what could make the Dark Lord blush.

"Different... how?"

Voldemort glanced at Bellatrix, who seemed content smelling her own hair and wasn't really paying attention to the conversation. "I got sunburn."

Harry laughed. "Sunburn? You've tricked me into coming to the ministry over _sunburn?_"

"SILENCE! It was awful! I could barely move. And then the peeling..."

"Tom, I don't think this is important," Dumbledore said softly. "Are you sure you're not here to kill someone? Or take over the government perhaps?"

"Look, it isn't just the sunburn," snapped Voldemort. "I'm always hungry. And I hardly sleep!"

"I offered to sing you a lullaby, my Lord," Bellatrix chimed in. "None of the others did, but I, your most loyal servant, was willing to sing you to slumber."

She was looking up at him like a dog who had just retrieved a stick. The scene was completed by Voldemort as he reluctantly reached and patted her on the head twice.

"Yes, thank you, Bella," he said, wiping his hand on his robes.

"I think I know your problem," Harry said when Bellatrix burst into joyful tears. "You took my blood, right?"

Voldemort nodded.

"See the thing is – and I can't believe you haven't worked it out – is that I'm sort of a vampire."

Harry had no idea how he was going to react, but it was worth it for the look of shock on Voldemort's face.

"Oh, Harry, you idiot," groaned Dumbledore.

"Professor, I know it's a surprise for you and it's stupid to reveal my weaknesses or whatever but-"

"It's not that," he interrupted with a wave of his hand. "Now that I am explicitly aware of your condition and not harmlessly oblivious, I'll have to fill out so much paperwork." He ran his hands over his lined face. "So many health and safety manuals to read..."

"Wait – you knew?"

Dumbledore, who looked on the verge of tears, glared at Harry. "I'm _Albus Dumbledore_."

"Right. Sorry. What about Ron and Hermione?"

"We're going to pretend I didn't just hear that."

"I'm part-vampire." On the other side of the room, away from Dumbledore's administrative hell, Voldemort was staring at his hands as though he'd never seen them before.

"Yep," Harry said, though it didn't look as though Voldemort was really looking for an answer. It was just weird being stuck in silence with a distraught headmaster, a maniac going through an identity crisis and a demented sadist who looked to be attempting to sharpen her teeth on the wall next to her.

"Can I bite people now?" he asked.

Before Harry could reply, Bellatrix jumped forward, pulling up her sleeve. "You can try your new powers on me, master!"

The space where Voldemort's nose should have been wrinkled. "When was the last time you bathed?"

"You'd know if you were a true vampire," Harry pointed out before things got too freaky. "You've probably inherited a few little things. Stay away from garlic bread is my advice."

Voldemort's red eyes switched from his servant to Harry. "But I love garlic bread!"

Harry shrugged without sympathy. The man had killed his parents and ruined his life after all. Robbing him of garlic bread seemed a fair revenge.

"But how am I supposed to kill you now?" Voldemort whined. "I have all of these great plans for your demise, Potter, and none of them factor in you being almost immortal."

"Yeah... I'm not exactly going to help you with that."

With a sigh, Voldemort waved Bellatrix over to him. "I suppose not. Well, there's nothing more for me to do here, so we'll be off."

"Floo safely," called Dumbledore with a genuine smile.

Voldemort flung Bellatrix into the green flames and turned to fix Harry with his trademark intimidating glare. "This isn't over, Potter. I have all the _Buffy_ boxsets – don't think I won't work out a way to defeat you!"

And, with a roar, he was gone.

"Wait a minute," Harry frowned, "_Buffy _doesn't even start until next year."

"Yes, but if the films can have the Millennium Bridge in 1996," said Dumbledore wisely, "then the fanfiction can have _Buffy _a few months earlier. Just go with it."

"But, Professor-"

Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder. "Don't be that guy, Harry."

* * *

"I've only managed to get three hours practise in a night this week. Really, I should be aiming for more, but I've had NEWT revision. How about you, Weasley? How prepared are you?"

"Oh. Um. Very."

"Good to hear. With a broom like that I expect you'd need a bit of an advantage. Plus you aren't really the right build for a keeper. Your sister would probably make a better seeker than chaser. Doesn't really matter though. Potter's probably already got your names on the back of the robes."

If Cormac didn't shut up in the next twenty seconds, Hermione was going to do something ill-fitting for a prefect. Ron, who was pale anyway due to complete lack of bloodflow, was especially peaky looking at the minute, thanks to his nerves. He didn't that imbecile riling him up even more.

What she wouldn't do to sink her teeth into them. Either of them. For very different purposes, of course.

"Wind's picking up," Cormac commented loud enough for everyone that side of the pitch to hear. "You be careful not to be blown into the forest now, Weasley."

Oh, that was it.

Unbeknownst to Ron and Harry, Hermione had done some serious research into anything and everything to do with vampires. While those two seemed content to mess around for all of eternity, she wanted to find out the extent of her powers, as well as finding new ways to make life easier for them.

One of the best things she had found out was that some vampires had limited mind control techniques. Of course, as she had an exceptionally powerful mind as a human, she found she was one of them. Eye contact was essential and she could only manage slight persuasion, but it was better than nothing.

Plus she'd managed to convince Ron that the normal baguette she had given him had actually been vampire friendly garlic bread and he'd casually told her he loved her. Yes, it had been an excessively grateful thank you, but with Ron Weasley you took what you got. Besides, she had plenty of time to move their relationship along.

On the pitch, Cormac kicked off and zoomed to the goalposts, looping around them a couple of times before stopping. Once in position, he did a quick scan of the crowd and winked at her.

_Big mistake._

Using her substantial concentration, Hermione sent a thought to Cormac and sat back, failing miserably to hide her smirk.

With a face like thunder, Ginny flew full-pelt at the scoring area and tossed the quaffle towards the right hand hoop. She needn't have bothered however, as Cormac was too busy focussing on his crotch to notice the ball fly straight past him.

"Wait – start again!" he demanded. "My fly was undone!"

"No, it wasn't," dismissed Harry. "You're wearing robes, anyway!"

Furious, Cormac went back to hovering in front of the middle hoop to resume his trial.

Five minutes later, he was absolutely livid.

"There was bird!" he was howling at Harry. "It flew right at me! And there was definitely a Veela on the pitch for the third one! Give me another go."

Meanwhile, several feet above them, Ron was whizzing around the goalposts, catching everything an irritated Ginny could throw at him. Hermione smiled. Yes, it may because he had lightening fast reactions and incomparable balance, but she was still proud of Ron.

Plus, being good at Quidditch made him smile and anything that did that should definitely be encouraged.

Half an hour later, when the spectators were long gone and most of the players had changed back into their normal clothes, Harry found himself being shoved against the door to the changing rooms. He looked down to see Ginny Weasley glaring up at him.

"You three have got to be more careful," she hissed.

"What?"

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Hermione's humiliating McLaggen while Ron's flying like a bloody hummingbird in front of half of Gryffindor and you're all too arrogant to think no one will notice?"

Harry opened his mouth to defend himself and found he really had nothing. After four years, they were so used to their extra abilities that they barely remembered how they were supposed to behave. Even Hermione, with her carefully practised excuses and explanations, was often caught out.

"Wait – how do you know-"

"Oh _please,_" snorted Ginny. "Anyone with half a brain could work it out. I can't believe no one else has clocked on yet!"

"And, um, you don't mind?" Harry asked tentatively. If Ginny ever let out their secret it wouldn't take Malfoy ten minutes to try and stake him. It wasn't worth thinking about.

"Of course not," Ginny said. She relaxed her grip on the front of his robes. Only once she'd stepped back did Harry realise he could have easily got out of it and walked away from her. "As long as you only use your powers for important things. Stuff like saving the world and Quidditch."

"I-I think we can manage that," Harry stuttered under her stern gaze.

"Good," nodded Ginny. "Now – explain to me why Malfoy hasn't woken up to find his bed has been moved to the top of the Astronomy Tower yet?"

* * *

"I'm not coming back, even if it does reopen."

Unable to meet his friends' shocked stares, Harry looked at the castle that had been the first real home he had ever known. Dumbledore's death had shaken him to the core and even easy access to blood and a team of house-elves willing to make him blue steaks at four in the morning wasn't enough to make him stay.

As much as he had been dreading it, the funeral hadn't been too bad. Of course, the weather had been lovely so even after hourly applications of suncream, his skin itched. At least he didn't have it as bad as Ron, whose nose looked to be seconds away from crumbling to dust. If it hadn't been such a sorrowful occasion, then his dash to take cover under a tree after the ceremony while trying to remain as inconspicuous as respectfully possible would have been hilarious.

"I thought you'd say that," sighed Hermione.

"Did you?" asked Ron, folding his arms. "Did you _really? _It's okay to not know _everything, _you know."

Hermione's cheeks were tinged pink, but she otherwise ignored him. "But where will you go, Harry?"

"Siberia," he deadpanned. "Seriously, you can't work out that I'm going after Voldemort?"

"I can't win with you two," she huffed and glared out over the lake.

Not for the first time in their friendship (or that day, actually) Harry and Ron shared a guilty look over upsetting Hermione. It wasn't their fault that it was so easy and they had had years of practise.

Slowly, as though approaching a wild animal, Ron reached across and looped an arm around Hermione's shoulders. Both of them seemed startled by this action.

Ron stood taller and, looking very chuffed with himself, turned to Harry. "We'll be with you, mate. Wherever you end up. Even Siberia."

"But – you can't. Your families and – and it's too risky and-" Words failed him under both of their reproachful glares. After all this time, he was still floored by how far they were willing to go for him. But didn't they understand that this was different? This wasn't trying to blame Snape for every wrong-doing they happened across or switching Malfoy's lunch for fried bat every Tuesday; this was taking down Lord Voldemort.

"Haven't you learnt yet?" Hermione smiled. "We're here whatever happens."

"Besides," shrugged Ron, "no one else is going to put up with your brooding for eternity so we might as well stick together."

"I don't... _brood_. Do I?"

"We should probably head back in," squeaked Hermione.

"Yep. I mean – look at the time."

"We mustn't miss the train."

"I've not even packed yet!"

Harry watched his two best friends scurry away from him, still rambling in the hopes he wouldn't notice and sighed. Even with all the darkness in his future – that he certainly wasn't _brooding _about - he was glad it was going to be spent with those two idiots.

* * *

After nearly nearly a year spent on the run, Harry had hoped that his grand showdown with Voldemort could be a quick and painless affair, dealt with away from any press or fans, so he could get on with his life. He certainly hadn't wanted to put everyone at Hogwarts at risk or go through all this soul-searching crap.

Forever was a long time to come to terms with your childhood trauma when everyone kept bringing it up all the time.

While a trip down Snape's memories had so far been interesting (the fashion disasters alone were enough to keep him laughing for the next couple of decades), Harry was getting bored. The revelation of his former teacher's true allegiance had been a shock but now he was suffering through memory after memory of tragic man-pain. How was seeing Snape writing poetry by candlelight supposed to help him win anyway?

Another change of scene found Harry stood in Dumbledore's office, apparently in the final year of his life.

"Great," grumbled Harry, leaning against the wall. "Just when you want some simple answers, bloody Dumbledore the Rambler shows up."

"I swore to protect the boy," hissed Snape, unaware of Harry's impatience, "but he is such a little shit."

"Language, Severus."

"He turned up to my lesson yesterday with a small gathering of bats that I couldn't banish."

"A unfortunate accident, surely."

"He ordered them to defecate on my desk – which they then did."

"You have an active imagination, Severus."

"You were in the room and laughed at it, Headmaster."

Dumbledore shrugged. "It was a fine display of aerial acrobatics."

Unbeknownst to the others in the memory, Harry chuckled. "Acro_bat_ics. Brilliant."

Before Snape could burst a blood vessel, Dumbledore raised his good hand to silence his incessant whining. "It is time I told you something I should have told you a long time ago."

"You say that about everything," muttered Snape. "Would it be too much trouble to tell someone something before they completely ruin their lives because they didn't know a piece of vital information?"

"Harry is no ordinary boy," Dumbledore continued as though he hadn't heard Snape. "Some time near the end of his first year here he became something that even I could not have predicted. Something that made him so much harder and so much easier to kill."

"Something that you'll eventually get around to explaining?"

"A vampire, Severus," Dumbledore finished gravely. "Harry is a vampire."

The silence swelled in the false air around Harry as he watched the colour of Snape's face turn from a pasty off-white to the sickly tone of weak tea. Would it have killed Snape to have recommended some popcorn before this adventure into the pensieve? Well, more than the gaping wound in the neck had killed him, anyway?

"A vampire?"

"Yes."

An interesting and complex thing was happening to Snape's body. As his mouth hopelessly gasped for air or reason, his arms gripped and released the edge of his seat. It was almost like he was drowning.

"Are you okay, Sev-"

"Yes, I'm just peachy," Snape spat. Literally, spat. Harry eyed the glob of saliva on Dumbledore's desk with disgust and was infinitely glad to not really be in the room.

"Calm down, Severus," sighed Dumbledore. "Jealousy never looked good on you."

"I'm not _jealous._"

Dumbledore rolled his eyes as he sat back in his chair. "Of course you aren't. Now, this makes your job even harder than we ever anticipated. You see, we needed to protect Harry, keep him alive and well, until the time came when his death would spell the end of Tom Riddle as well. That time is coming soon. If Voldemort ever appears to become overly protective of his snake, then you must tell Harry that the night his parents were killed, a fragment of Voldemort's soul latched onto his and has been with him ever since.

"He must die at the hands of Lord Voldemort if Voldemort himself is ever to be destroyed."

Dumbledore's solemn expression faded into the background as everything Harry had ever known collapsed around him. If anyone was speaking, he was only hearing it as background noise. Snape really did have a point; Dumbledore really did need to work on his timing.

Recovering from the initial shock, Snape leant forward in his chair. Harry was numbly aware that his old teacher appeared to be trembling with an emotion he kept hidden. It could have been shock or sorrow, but Harry would have put his wand on it being anger. It was Snape's go-to if sneering indifference wasn't working for him, after all.

"So first you have me protecting an immortal and now you want me to make sure said immortal dies?" he whispered through gritted teeth.

Yup. Definitely anger.

"Lily's son. Under your '_protection'_, he has been turned into a monster. He has been raised as a pig to the slaughter. And you have manipulated me, him and practically everyone you know into doing the dirty work so your plan succeeds!"

On the other side of the desk, Dumbledore appeared unbothered by his rage and regarded Snape sadly. "I'm surprised at you, Severus. After all this time? You still haven't realised that life's a bitch."

* * *

The walk to the forest felt like the longest journey Harry had ever taken. In truth, it probably was seeing as he usually moved at superhuman speed if he needed to get anywhere but that wasn't the point.

Eventually, just when he thought his conviction might snap and he'd run away to see how the war played out without him, he found the Death Eater camp. He was surprised to see that they were gathered around a fire, some of them holding out marshmallows for toasting. Feeling insulted that they were ruining his big moment, he cleared his throat and the Death Eaters hurriedly tossed their snacks and faced him.

"Potter, you've made the right decision in coming here," came Voldemort's voice from the back of the group. He walked soundlessly across the forest floor until he stood in front of his hideous band of ne'er-do-wells and held his arms out. "Many of your friends' lives will be spared."

"I've not got time for the big villain speech so can we just get on with this?" Harry said, hoping his fear wasn't evident in his voice. "Got any garlic?"

There was wave of shuffling across the gathered Death Eaters and Voldemort broke eye contact.

"What?"

A bald man answered sullenly. "None of us are allowed garlic anymore."

"Quiet, Travers," Voldemort hissed at him. "You all promised to cut garlic from your diets with me and I will not tolerate you moaning it about it years later."

Harry noticed that a few of the Death Eaters looked as though they'd sell out their beloved master for a single garlic mushroom, but decided not to comment. "Um... How about holy water?"

Voldemort was suddenly very interested in the hem of his left sleeve.

"Seriously? There's about three things that can kill me and you haven't got any of them?"

"I forgot!" snapped Voldemort. The front of an all-powerful control freak slipped away and left a harangued office manager in its place. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to organise this kind of thing? I remembered the giants and the dementors and had to get this lot here on time – even with Lucius doing his hair."

On Voldemort's left, Lucius Malfoy flicked his admittedly tremendous hair over his shoulder. "Victory should be fabulous, my Lord."

"You see what I have had to put up with!" Voldemort cried. "I swear it wasn't this bad the first time around. Now it's all red tape and unions and I just want the world! Is that too much to ask for?"

Harry considered this for a moment. "Yeah... That's kinda why I'm trying to stop you."

"Trying... and failing," sneered Voldemort, his ridiculous arrogance back in full force. "I may have forgotten to bring a specialised weapon, but I didn't need one." With a flourish, he pulled the Elder Wand from his pocket. "I'll stab you with the wand. How poetic an end that shall be..."

"Whatever charms your cheese, Volders."

"Don't call me that!"

"Or what? You'll kill me? Just get on with it."

With a huff, Voldemort marched towards Harry who braced himself for the death blow. Fearlessly meeting his enemy's eyes, he pictured his friends, the people he was doing this for. They'd be safe now. Ginny would probably be happier with someone who'd she be able to eat at proper restaurants with and at least this way he wouldn't spend eternity cringing at Ron and Hermione being _coupley_ together.

A screech tore through the night as Voldemort brought the wand down as hard as he could against Harry's chest.

"Ow!" yelped Harry, rubbing the spot above his heart. Despite all of the build-up, the wand hadn't even ripped his shirt. "That really bloody hurt!"

"I _was_ trying to kill you!"

"Try harder."

"Need I remind you, Potter, that I am in my seventies. Physical violence isn't my forte."

Pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses, Harry tried to remain calm. His nerves were shot as it was. He really didn't need all of this to deal with. If he'd known Voldemort would struggle this much to kill then he'd have spent the last few years a lot more at ease.

Over the titters of his Death Eaters, Voldemort ripped open Harry's shirt, closed one eye and took aim again. "One... two..."

He thrust the wand into Harry's heart and all he could think was that he was grateful he'd missed his ribs or they could have been there all night. As dramatically as he could, he staggered away from the circle until his legs couldn't carry him any more and then swooned onto the softest patch of dirt he saw.

After all, he was Harry Potter. His death should be as entertaining a show as his life had somehow ended up being.

Once he was finally motionless, the gathered crowd were silent. Even with the pained expression and flailing it seemed an anti-climatic end to a war that had been raging on and off for decades.

"Is he dead?" Voldemort asked tentatively. "Well, he wasn't alive to start with, but you know what I mean. Female Malfoy, you check," he ordered before sinking onto a tree stump and massaging his temples. "And I will murder every single one of you maggots if I don't see a Starbucks in my hand in the next thirty minutes."

* * *

"He's dead! The Boy Who Lived! Your precious saviour! Despite your best efforts he ran scared and is now no more!" cackled Voldemort as he all but pranced in front of the remaining fighters outside of Hogwarts. At first it had been horrible, but that had been half an hour ago. Hermione could see that even a few of the Death Eaters were growing tired of their leader's gloating.

"Bow down to your master! Join me and my new-"

"I'm sorry, Mr Voldemort?" interrupted Hermione when she'd finally had enough. "I don't know if you've noticed, but Harry is clearly still alive."

Her words were met with gasps from both sides. All eyes turned to the body at the Dark Lord's feet, hoping for and against any kind of movement.

It didn't take long for Harry's nose to twitch.

The Death Eaters groaned as the Hogwarts students and the Order cheered. Bellatrix ripped up the victory banner she had apparently made on the way there out of her own robes and lipstick. Her reaction was nothing compared to Voldemort's who was glaring at Harry with such fury that Hermione was worried he might actually shoot lazers from his pupils. She had no idea if lazers were effective against vampires but figured it couldn't pleasant.

"The grass was tickling me," Harry said apologetically when Voldemort failed to move.

His voice brought him out of his shock and Voldemort promptly kicked Harry hard in the stomach.

"MERLIN'S ARSECRACK, POTTER, JUST FUCKING DIE!"

"I'm trying!" whinged Harry. He looked close to tears. "How can I heroically sacrifice myself if I can't bloody die?"

Ron hesitantly raised his hand. "Have you tried saving the day while still alive? Ish?"

Just as Hermione was about to agree with Ron, she heard Professor McGonagall mutter something to herself. She then had the older woman's cloak thrust into her arms. "Hold this for me, Miss Granger. Shan't be a minute."

Without any more of an explanation, McGonagall launched herself at Nagini, twisting the gigantic snake until Hermione heard a crunching noise over the collective intake of breath. Voldemort's howl of rage had barely left his throat when McGonagall grasped his head with both hands and, with a move as violent as it was fast, pulled until it came clear off his neck. Before his body had even hit the floor, she lifted her prize over her mouth and lapped up the dark liquid that dripped from it.

Even Hermione and her extensive vocabulary couldn't describe just how stunned and silent the stunned silence that followed was.

"Disgusting," grimaced McGonagall, flinging Voldemort's head over her shoulder. While most of the Death Eaters quickly parted to avoid being hit by it, Bellatrix jumped forward as though it were the bouquet at a wedding. "Soulless fiends are hardly a filling meal."

"Professor?" whimpered Hermione when McGonagall collected her cloak.

"That was bloody hot! Ow!" Ron rubbed his arm where Hermione had hit him. "I mean – wow!"

"Did you three never work it out?" McGonagall sighed when they shook their heads. "The vampire who turned you? He's my lifemate. I asked him to guard the Stone. Made the long distance thing easier," she shrugged as Harry stumbled towards them, his mouth hanging open.

"But – the chessboard?" he questioned weakly.

"Oh no. That was Quirrell. Can't stand chess," she sniffed with as much dignity as a woman dripping blood from her chin could.

Ron picked a stone up from the ground and threw it at Voldemort's body. "That's that then, I guess," he said when the once feared Dark Lord didn't move.

The trio slowly turned to face the group behind them, very aware that all eyes were on them and ranged from frightened to confused to angry to a bizarre mix of the three.

"Um... we won, everyone!" Harry called, clapping his hands together. "Er... good work, team. Party in the common room? Seamus, get the drinks in? Cool." He patted the Irishman on the back and made his way through the crowd. Ron and Hermione copied him, awkwardly smiling at their friends as they went by.

Eventually the stunned masses followed them into the castle with many a shrug.

"Hang on," cried Neville as people brushed by him. "That was – I don't - I'm going to need more of an explanation than that!"

McGonagall, fixing her appearance with a hand mirror and handkerchief, patted him sympathetically on the shoulder. "Don't worry too much, Longbottom. I'm sure it'll all be explained in full in a couple of years time on Pottermorbid dot com."

And without so much as glance back at the baffled teenager or the thoroughly put-out Death Eaters, she joined the throng of tired witches and wizards using this latest odd occurrence as an excuse to get drunk at the end of the school year.


End file.
